


From Charcoaled Cages to Gilded Pens

by oly_chic



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Black Markets, Gen, Mercenaries, gladiator pits
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-27
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-07-18 13:39:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7317460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kaon is as about as kind to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as a underground mine is to a caged bird. They've picked out their cage and found a nice rock to stick it on, though, so they don't see a reason to trust anyone for anything more. </p><p>Sometimes someone's just going to have to break that cage off its hook and move it a little closer to the fresh air, even if those birds are pecking at the someone's fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Transformers.
> 
> I also got my heel chewed by a rabid plot bunny. Happened while reading "The Iacon Prophecy" by ntldr. I'm busy with my other fic, but here's a rabid attack bunny chapter.

The gladiator's pit sludge clung to his peds and lower legs as Sideswipe stepped into the small ring, his grim expression unwavering despite the burning tingling everywhere the grunge stuck. The unforecasted acid rain pocket that blanketed Kaon was four orns ago and any place touched by middle class or high class citizens peds/wheels were cleared, but not places like here. The lower city levels, the places visited only by those deemed unsavory, still had acidic moisture traps or collected in puddles. The only good news within that was that at least its acidic potency had lost most of its bite so there was more stinging than chewing through armor.

The roar and cries of the crowd was more explicative-laden than actual sounds of cheering, but then nothing good-natured was expected in the "black pits." These weren't just gladiator pits; these were the black-market gladiator pits. The crowds were smaller in size and had a smaller sense in decency. Hell, there was usually a pair or two of mechs fragging in the stands because the violence had their engines running hot. The right walker, coming off the streets and passing through the stands, could make a lot of credits.

That was the only plus side to these pits, the gambling pouring from the drinking, fragging, and "biggest baddest gangsta in the city" pride measuring contests. There wasn't much to be scored from the gambling as a fighter, but the twins were almost out of credits and completely out of options.

A pained tug of his spark had Sideswipe instantly glancing back at Sunstreaker. His twin was doing his best to keep his own expression and body language in-tune with a hardened fighter, but the slip in his side of the split-spark bond gave him away to at least one observer. Sunstreaker was underneath the crowd's stands and on Sideswipe's half of the area, sitting on the closest bench that let him peer out into the arena. His hand was over hip as if he was just sitting too intensely, but the slip in spark came from another gush of infection seeping past the saturated bandages. Along with that pain came Sunstreaker's frustration and humiliation.

Sideswipe pulse back feelings of assurances, that Sunstreaker's situation wasn't his fault or something worth brooding. Sunstreaker responded by withdrawing again so Sideswipe could concentrate. The red mech's gaze stayed with his twin until he heard his opponent's gate squeal and sputter open. His opponent was a bulky mech, about two heads taller than Sideswipe with abnormally long arms.

He pulled his own arms in tight, pulled his torso inward and sideways to his opponent, and his peds rocked forward. An opponent like that would have a wide swing, so he had to get in close and keep himself a small quick target.

A flash of light and a cry for the current black pit leader cut out everything else for the shortest klik, and Sideswipe took that to blindly push forward in a crouching dive to get below the swing of those arms. He felt the air whoosh above his helm as his guess on his opponent's opening move proved true. His own arm shot out and connected with his opponent's oblique abdominal armor. Before he could follow through his ankle suddenly bombarded him with pain warnings from impact and Sideswipe used his extended arm to catch his opponent's kicking leg.

The fight continued in a blur but Sideswipe's reaction time kept his opponent from getting a punch or elbow in the fight, giving Sideswipe ultimately more leverage. Sideswipe knew that leverage wasn't maintainable, however, so his main concern was ending this fight before his peds slipped out from under him. He was forced to move faster around those kicks but his current position had few options for quickly disabling attacks. His goal was to strike the hip joints enough to force his opponent to crumble, and so he concentrated his fists there.

After another series of strikes when Sideswipe got his rhythm down he felt the armor plating crumble at one hip and his knuckles struck joint actuators so hard he felt the tear to his hands. He ignored the pain, much like the pain from his acid-muddied armor, and used the opening created by that leg falling to strike the other hip and repeat the damage. The other fighter fell backwards, but before Sideswipe could duck around the flailing limbs one hand caught him behind the knee and yanked the limb hard.

"Guh!" Sideswipe cried through gritted teeth, one leg sliding across the sludge while the other was caught behind an opponent limb, pulling his legs into a squat trying to be stretched out into a leg split. The red fighter's pulled knee protested the loudest of all the strained joints, but Sideswipe used the other leg to push up and go with the motion. He used to momentum to land on the mech's chassis and immediately started punching his face, ignoring the blows to his own body. There weren't many of them before the mech lost consciousness.

The lights and leader's cries went out again, the crowds screamed, and Sideswipe came to a grunting halt. He crawled off of the offlined mech carefully, his goal to walk away as if unhurt. Those in the stands would take it as a sign of his prowess as a fighter, but he gave no damns about their opinions beyond the weight of the credits; all that mattered when walking out was looking okay enough for Sunstreaker not fret and remain a contender for another round. Based on Sunstreaker's expression, there'd still be some fussing.

A few steps inside and his handler for the match stepped between him and Sunstreaker. The handler reminded him of a mech he'd seen arranging other high-profit black pit matches, a mech named Swindle, but this one was shorter and dark blue. He also lacked the tact of a high-profit handler. "So, what's your prize? Creds, energon, or - ?"

"Meds. For Sunstreaker." He reached into a seam slip and pulled out a writing polymer material, containing the scribbled markings of a doctor's diagnosis. "This is what the infection is, and what he needs."

The handler examined it. He commented, the shrewd doubt not hidden, "I'm not sure a single round's winnings for a single fighter will cover these costs, if the meds are even here. Maybe a twin fight winning will..."

"The meds are here and my winnings for this match will cover enough. I already checked, don't dare haggle for a twin matchup. That's not an option," he added with a growl and a jab to the shrew's chassis. "Go get a Pit Medic. Sign me up for another round, as soon as possible."

The mech grumbled but obliged. "Go sit in the waiting room," he insisted as he left.

Sideswipe came up on Sunstreaker's bad side, motioning for his brother's arm. Sunstreaker muttered a few dark curses but the twins managed to get him up and moving, his leg pulled up to minimize hip movement. The pair moved to the waiting room for the half of participants they were lumped in with at the beginning of match divisions. This was the only well-lit room, because it doubled as the inspection room as well. The fighters filled the few benches, and some were scattered elsewhere, but the twins managed to find a wall spot without hovering mechs or trash that might end up inside someone.

They lowered down to the ground together until Sideswipe sat and Sunstreaker leaned up against his side, one leg sprawled and the other held close. A long hiss escaped Sunstreaker as he tried to settle his body carefully. His hiss morphed into a pained, "Sorry."

"Don't be. Not your fault. We wouldn't be here if the weather forecasters didn't screw up, or if the free clinic wasn't out of these _what-cha-mi-call-it-cyline_ meds."

"Maybe you should get some of that _what-cyline_ for your hands," Sunstreaker suggested, gesturing to the cuts. "Those don't look clean, and if you go out there again, the sludge will probably get compacted inside."

Sideswipe examined the cuts. He could feel some weak acid inside the cuts, but not enough pain suggested it worth more than another annoyance to ignore. His strained knee would be more problematic. "I calculated it out. If I knocked him out without real injury to myself, in full glorious striking gladiator mode, the winnings would be just enough to cover the full dose applied by doctor that you need now. One doc I asked said the dose comes with new wound covers, so here's hoping that's true or else we need a minimum of four fights instead of three. We can check in with the clinic tomorrow to see if any meds arrived."

"Whoa, whoa, what?" Sunstreaker snapped. "Three matches? Where the frag did you come up with that? Last I heard was two: one for meds, one for fighter-grade energon for us to split."

' _Oh right_ ,' Sideswipe groaned. Sunstreaker was jabbing him over the bond, demanding an honest explanation. "I was planning on three minimum, depending on whether or not we could get the meds here or if we needed credits to go to an actual hospital. Plus one fight for fuel for you, one fight for us to split."

"I don't need that much fuel," the yellow mech rebutted. That was completely false by virtual of them never having full tanks, but neither thought of fueling needs in term of full tank, but instead of an empty one.

"Yeah? And how's that going to work with your repair systems? That infection is going on 4 orns, you need at least a cube-and-a-half."

"I don't need you to take care of me like this," Sunstreaker stubbornly refused, intently shutting out the nausea and pain that came from a slow spreading infection. "It's practically a topical infection. One dose and if it's between you eating slag or me not looking like a bad streetwalker, I'd rather cut out the plating between those options."

"So love the dedication to saving my face, but I'd rather make sure you're okay. I mean, if you didn't cut deep enough you could die from the infection and then my death would be labeled 'infection proxy death.' I mean, death by infection is one thing, but by proxy? I'd prefer to save my face by not having that forever etched somewhere, as opposed to risk short term re-acquaintance with the three flavors of slag."

"Like you - "

"Sssh! Here comes a room attendee," Sideswipe shushed the snide remark he knew coming. Gratefulness or love weren't expressed here with thanks, in full viewing of any number of personalities. He felt it in his spark, streaming from Sunstreaker.

The shuffling attendee stopped just out of reach of either, a habit of all attendees around mechs often volatile. "Doctor's on the way," said attendee, the lisp in his words and crooked mouth suggesting he needed a doctor's visit as well.

"Thanks," Sideswipe nodded.

Attendee waited for some rude dismissal, but got none. With the lack of narcissistic attitude, the attendee relaxed some and took note of Sideswipe's hands. "We got some of those cast-off bandages, just finished cleaning them. Figured fighters would need them, given the wondrous mix of mines' waste and acid rain featured in the fights. All the black pits got it."

Cast-off bandages was the less-gross way of saying the carbon fiber bandages used during mining operations were clean enough for re-use, by black market standards. Their purposes weren't for healing but to keep the fights going, by blocking containments out or keeping fluids inside the body. They were cleaned enough to not pass on anything from the last wearer, at least. "Sure."

They were silently alone until the doctor soon came, the attendee leading him and carrying a small roll. He handed it wordlessly to Sideswipe as the doctor knelt by Sunstreaker. "Name's Flatline. Let me see," the doctor introduced himself, nudging Sunstreaker's hand away.

Flatline carefully peeled back the bandages, now mostly held in place by sticky wound oozing instead of tape. Sunstreaker kept his pained responses in check, knowing some doctors rushed these treatments if they didn't like the fighter. He'd seen Flatline before, was even treated by him at least once, but he had no idea what his mannerisms were if his patients were less than complacent. He just assumed to distrust any mech in a situation giving them the chance to act in their own self-interest or ego-stroking. Both of them did.

When the dressings were finally gone Flatline carefully examined the wound. "That must be deep. Did the clinic you visit take images to make sure there's nothing else wrong?"

"Got impaled," Sunstreaker thickly answered, holding back his anger at the whole situation. "We thought the object was totally out and I was fine, but apparently it wasn't clean and it broke off. The nurses at the clinic cleaned it out. Said that once the infection was gone and the inflamed parts calm down, they can repair. They were out of the meds for the infection. Guess I'm not the only mech to be so special and get stabbed by infected things."

"This needs a 10-orn treatment," Flatline explained, ignoring the last part. "I can only give you a one-orn dose and some clean bandages right now. I suppose, if you win enough creds and stick around after all the fights, I might be able to sell you another dose at-cost."

The twins glanced at each other. Sunstreaker immediately said over the split-spark bond, ~He's hiding something. At-cost for creds, plus cost for something else. I'm not fragging for meds.~

~Pretty sure a doctor wouldn't 'face a mech with a known infection,~ Sideswipe pointed out, voice laced with sarcasm. ~Sticking around and waiting to find out what can't hurt us.~

Sideswipe answered out loud before Sunstreaker could wave it off. "Sure, if we got the creds and the time. Where's a good meeting spot?"

~Bet you he's gonna say in a back alley by Creepers Corner.~

"There's a bus stop near a closed cafe. You're probably taking the buses instead of transforming, right? I know it's one stop further away, but we won't be bothered by someone trying to score."

"Stop 1138?" When Flatline confirmed Sideswipe hesitated. "Sure. If we're not there, no slight meant. Chances are one of us was too ill or hurting to stick around that long."

When Flatline worked on cleaning the wound's surface Sideswipe started wrapping up his knuckles and palms. The medic was preparing the dose when the handler came over to the trio. He glanced at the twins, his nose crinkling at the sight (and smell) of one mech giving up his earnings to another without means to work it back anytime soon. "You're on in 2 fights."

"'K," the fight-capable mech answered back, an edge to that single syllable. He saw that look; he saw the thoughts behind that mech's optics. What mechs like him didn't know what that Sideswipe had another source of income, and one that taught him how to read and work over mechs like him.

The handler left and Flatline looked at Sideswipe. "You might as well get over there, in case the next two matches turn out to be heavy one-sided. I can help him back to the observer's bench when I'm done. My next patient is in that direction."

Sideswipe started moving out from Sunstreaker, but slowly to lean him against the wall. ~You going to be fine alone?~

~He's not gonna try anything here. If he turns out to be that stupid, my fists and forehelm still break a mech's nose and optic sockets just fine.~

Sideswipe managed to stay upright for four more fights, trying to get as much credits as he could while they waited for closing matches to finish. He knew they couldn't say no to the medic's offer because the free clinic may still be out of medicine tomorrow, and maybe the orn after that. These weren't highly revered clinics, in areas of mechs not highly valued by businesses and officials. So while he waited it out he kept that chance in the forefront of his mind, working on earning enough credits in case they'd have to visit a clinic with actual costs.

The fourth fight he barely won, and only because the mech's spinal strut cracked with a haymaker Sideswipe threw with his whole body. He'd been on his knees at that point, the strained one no longer feeling lonesome. Sunstreaker protested each time, of course, and all the way until the end Sideswipe managed to keep the pain away from him. When Sunstreaker had to limp out to help Sideswipe leave, the pair retreating among the catcalls for twin action inside the ring and out, he finally accepted it was over. His spark cried to keep going, but the meager winnings for an unspectacular victory sullied his fighting spirit.

"Alright," Sideswipe groaned, "let's get you to our bus stop. I'll double-back and meet up with that doc."

"I'm not leaving you alone on the streets, let alone with some mech demanding 'at-cost' things. You know he doesn't mean credits-only at-cost. They _never_ do."

"'They' are usually not doctors but drug peddlers."

"Yeah, and you're about to meet a doctor peddling you drugs in an isolated area. You know why no one goes to Stop 1138 after that cafe closes, or really every. Never mind it's the opposite direction of our way home."

"Yeah, and if he tries anything I can say frag off, or I can punch him and take the meds."

"As much as I'd love that, you know that screws us over. At the very least they won't let us compete again without being 'The Fire Red and Scorched Yellow' Twins. And they'd probably take a big cut of our winnings and give it to him anyways."

"Okay!" Sideswipe snapped loud, before huffing and trying to calm down. He was tired, lower on energon than he'd tell Sunstreaker, some of joints were definitely out of alignment now, and while both optics worked, one had small cracks webbing across the outer lens in a distracting diagonal. Standard optic outer lenses took long to heal, and that crack was going to be more annoying than an optic squiggly floaty. "Okay, just whatever. Whatever. Let's get moving before I gotta shove you in a box to hold you safe while I make it to the meeting."

They hobbled quickly to their bus stop, having plenty practiced moving quickly on broken bodies through the unsafe open areas around the black pits. Close to their stop was a safe nook where they could squeeze inside and hide until the bus neared. They learned the hard way that the bus wouldn't stop if there was anything potentially questionable going on at the designated pickup, so they usually just stayed out of sight of passing trouble (aka other mechs).

When Sunstreaker was safe Sideswipe made his way back, limp-hopping until he was out of Sunstreaker's sight. The meet time was too close, judging by the ped-traffic they'd seen and the patterns of movement observable now. He had enough energon to transform, speed to the meeting, and then rush-walk-limp back to Sunstreaker. They had a couple of low-grade cubes at home, and since Sunstreaker didn't _need_ low-grade right now Sidesewipe could drink it to make up for the energon burned on an alt-form transforming cycle. Sunstreaker wouldn't ask why Sideswipe needed his share, given the fatigue permeating from Sunstreaker's bond side.

Sideswipe moved into the street and tightened his hold on his side of the spark bond. Once he was certain any possible screaming wouldn't be heard or felt by Sunstreaker, he gritted his teeth and transformed.

' _Ahh, ah! Carrier-fragging, Unicron-loving, hell spawns!_ ' he cursed as misaligned root-mode joints were forced into misaligned car parts. Pain rippled through his frame but he gave it no time to settle before he was off, zipping around drunken mechs, some being hostile and throwing their bottles for whatever reason suited their foul personalities.

He slowed only when he neared the meeting spot, being prepared to transform and not draw speculation. Flatline assumed they wouldn't transform, and there was a reason for that: most gladiators in the black pits didn't have the energon to waste on a transformation sequences. In fact, most convinced themselves that they were only in the black pits to get back on their peds, or get enough credits to make it to city-authorized gladiator leagues. He and his twin had no such delusions, their only goal to keep times like these to a bare minimum necessity.

This stop was on a bus route that went straight to the living projects that often homed black pit mechs, addicts, prostitutes, and basically any mech type that might be in Creepers Corner and its alleys to earn instead of spend. Not only was this a route used by plenty of seedy personalities at this time of night, after these types of illegal events, but this actual stop was used by the Black Pit Market Gang. That cafe was theirs, but it had a semi-honest front and some decent energon goodies, all things considered.

He pulled between buildings on the cafe's opposite of the bus stop and transformed. He listened for sounds of a setup, like the murmur of mech engines laying in wait.

... Actually, wait - there were sounds of mech engines, but they weren't the murmurs of ones waiting to attack. And they were accompanied by sounds of small cries and mocking taunts.

Sideswipe moved to the meeting point, but he approached from behind the cafe. The area was dark and load pallet stacks partially blocked the view (from the back and from the street), but he made out three frames knocking around a fourth. A fourth he quickly placed as Flatline's.

Sideswipe charged forward, with more muster than he probably should've on his joints. His heavy steps had the closest turning around to his direction, but whatever kind of processor the moron had was clearly not a high-performance once, as the idiot's face remained open for Sideswipe's fist. He struck hard enough to disorientate and followed through with an up-hook shot with his full strength, sending Moron #1 into a spiraled crash on top of Moron #2. He slammed one ped down onto Moron #1's hand, obliterating the fingers, and then stepped on his arm so he could slam his other ped down onto Moron #2's face.

"Stop!"

Sideswipe froze and looked into the optics of the third attacker, who had the medic pinned to his body. Sideswipe narrowed his optics, growled with his vocalizer and engine in a mismatched frequency combo for discomforting others, half of his mouth curling in a threatening display. He wasn't just one half of the "The Fire Red and Scorched Yellow" Twins; that was their underground advertised name (picked out by event arrangers, not them). He was half of a twin-set that had paranoid conspiracy mechs thinking twins were demonic omens.

"What, what are you?" The mech cried, his low-quality vocalizer badly enunciating his words. His optics bulging as he stepped and dragged the medic back with him. A knife was nestled with the blade just against the armor protecting the processor cortex. The knife looked harder than the armor. "No mech talks like that!"

"No mech indeed," Sideswipe growled harder, baring his teeth like a cyberwolf.

He crouched down on the shaking mechs below him. The one with the broken face had a couple extra markings he noticed when there was no longer an ugly mug to pull focus. "This one's got 'em markings. Them mid-level banger markings." He grazed the paint markings, using the sharpened parts of his finger tips like a claw. He kept his words low-intelligence to match theirs, but his tone more animalistic. The "I'm like you but scarier" routine worked well enough for these gang member types.

"So what? You gonna take us? You think your demon cat claws getting through BPM Gang armor faster than I can knife your aft six ways from sorry?" The words might have been tough if they weren't shaking more than the frames Sideswipe was using as a floor.

"You gonna take that bet? 'Cause if you're wrong, you gotta 'xplain to thems with upper-level banger markings why you let this one die on their front steps." He sneered at Knifer, and then sneered at the two pinned by him, before looking back at Moron # 3. "Leave me my prey and his things, and you won't be needing to craft a cover story on your own."

Moron #3 looked at his companions, and Broken Face nodded, to the best a broken face could do. The one left standing threw Flatline down on the ground and pointed his blade at him. His other hand held the medicine vial. "Peddler, you stay down. Demon Wolf, you get off 'em now and I won't skewer your prey from here."

' _Does he not know the difference between a cat and a cyberwolf, or is he too scared to make up his mind? Nope, not gonna ask._ ' Sideswipe slipped off of the pair and hauled them upward enough for his to throw them on their knees. He knelt over them and dragged them up onto their peds. "March forward."

The two staggered forward, Sideswipe right behind them and glaring down the one holding the doctor hostage. Knifer glanced at Flatline nervously like he might try something, but Sideswipe's growl made him jump and twitch too hard to keep a steady hand. He grabbed the two and when Sideswipe's hand moved toward the vial, the Knifer flung the vial away. Sideswipe dived for it, grabbing it as he plowed into Flatline.

The pair laid there, groaning for a moment as their senses righted themselves from the collision. Sideswipe weakly slid off and onto the ground. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," came the drawn out, shaky reply. "You can be really terrifying, and I spend a lot of time around mechs who aren't exactly the invisible types. I wasn't even sure you were the same mech I met at the arena. What was that? I thought you gladiators were about fists and kicks first, and mentally-attacking last. I mean, geez."

"Yeah, my twin and I get a lot of attention that we don't want because we're twins. We used to always swing first, ask later, but then things happened and we learned that sometimes playing off of the 'twins are Unicron's demons' works real well. Sometimes it's all we have to keep us from using up all our energon reserves in a fight. We both still want to bash jerks faces in first, because why not when we're down here, but fuel preservation makes for a great reason to stop and think of another outcome."

Flatline cycled his vents and steadied his body before slowly easing himself up into a half-standing position. He reached out and helped his rescuer up until they were both standing. "Are mechs really that superstitious down here?"

"Yup. Especially with those seriously lacking an education. It's half the reason why we draw a crowd when we fight together. Of course, the pay bump is only when we fight together, because no one cares about one twin in the ring."

Flatline stared at him, his thoughts absently murmured almost too low for Sideswipe to catch, "Smarter than your average black pit gladiator."

Sideswipe grunted, half in protest, half in offense. "Thanks, I suppose. What was the cost of this vial?"

"Oh, right." Flatline looked at what was in Sideswipe's hand. "You saved my life. Let's call that the cost."

"I take it you didn't know about the risks about this spot?"

"I knew that the cafe was a front for a gang, but my understanding was no one used it when the cafe was closed and the gang members would be at the pits, collect bets. I thought it'd be the safest spot, actually."

"Hiding in the enemy's backyard while they're hustling mechs down at the frontyard's street entrance? I'd call that smart, except that doesn't work around here. There's cred, high-grade, and drug runners that do dropoffs here, when they've finished up with those bet shakedowns."

Sideswipe watched the medic's face make that 'oh' expression, when one realizes how stupidly they assumed something. When it came he pressed onward before there was any awkward conversation. He did have a bus to catch, after all. "Don't worry about it. What's the cred cost?"

"You're too nice."

' _No, more like I don't want to risk any chances of you somehow thinking I owe you,_ ' the under-fueled mech privately countered. "I'd rather chalk up this life-saving to a one-time deal thing, with no later payment questions. I know you've been to the pits before, but I guess you aren't aware of the going-ons outside of the immediate vicinity of those pits."

"Evidently not. Seriously, thank you. Not just for rescuing me, but pointing out my screw up so I don't make it again somewhere else. And not calling me out like the idiot I obviously am. You're right; I have been to these pit events enough that I should've been smarter. I owe you. Take the vial."

Now it was Sideswipe's turn to stare. "Well, okay then. If you're absolutely sure that I don't owe you anything."

"I am." Flatline looked around to the back of the cafe. "Where's your brother?"

"We've got a routine down for the stuff we do after our last match. Mechs we visit, things we pick up. I left him in a safe spot, and I need to head back pretty soon."

Flatline nodded absently, his thoughts elsewhere. He pulled out a small container of energon. "This is a shot of some performance-enhancing energon that'll let you transform just fine, so you get back to your brother faster. I'm sure you weren't expecting to be here this long." The container was pressed into Sideswipe's hand. "You know that you don't have to live a life in the pits, or whatever else you do to make a living."

From his tone, Sideswipe gathered that Flatline thought Sideswipe might be selling his body for more than violent entertainment. Given the reality of their actual other income source, and how hard he and Sunstreaker fought to protect said reality, he chose to let it slide. So long as he wasn't being propositioned, he didn't care if someone thought him a 'face-for-pay. "There's little life outside of the pits. I'm not one of those mechs with crazy dreams of sipping high-grade energon like a classy citizen." In a show he tossed his shot back like a low-class citizen failing to understand savoring a drink in the presence of company.

"You don't have to be a _classy_ citizen, if you don't want, just like you don't have to a bottom-of-the-pack citizen either. I don't work only with the black pits and the authorized gladiator pits. I also work for mercenary groups. You've got the skills to be more than a black pit mech and a streetwalker."

"Thanks, but I don't know any mercs." Sideswipe dismissed with as much false care as he could project. "Thanks for the energon, but even with it I need to go now. Maybe we'll see you around, although we try to not need a medic when we're in the pits, you understand."

"Sure, sure." Flatline walked with him to the streets. "Sideswipe, right?"

"Yeah...?" He didn't care much for mechs knowing his name. He didn't like the interest, unless he initiated it.

"I'll be seeing you around, Sideswipe, the mech who saved my life." Flatline flashed him a wirily smile and then transformed, driving off in the opposite direction.

Sideswipe watched the tail lights disappear, gauging for any suspicious movements. When he waited as long as he could to make sure the mech wasn't going to turn back and follow him, Sideswipe painfully got through another transformation and sped to Sunstreaker.

"Hey!" Sunstreaker called as he stumbled out of the nook when he saw Sideswipe's alt mode. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You can't waste energon like that."

"I saved that doc's life from a gang attack, so he gave me some energon to transform and drive here," the one twin explained as he transformed back into root mode. "Turns out he didn't pick Bus Stop 1138 because he had some dark plan. I didn't miss the bus, did I?"

"No, I saw its lights one city level up not long ago, so it'll be here soon."

As it turned out, the bus was so close they didn't need to decide whether or not to sit for the remainder of the wait. They boarded the bus, swiped their bus passes, and moved to the middle of the bus, between the blitzed out druggy, loud group of drunks, and the shagging trio in the back. They road in peace, all things considered.

The bus came to their stop and the stumbled out alone, the driver mumbling about wasted drunks too lost to know their way home. They ignored the words, still not giving the slightest damn about anyone else. These were the homes for the salvage yard workers, for mechs who worked long hours pulling anything the city or mines had to dispose, and placing it in the yards.

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were not scavengers, or waste disposal mechs. They were black market traders. Not traders high enough to catch anyone's optic that would see them during trade deals and then again in pit fights. Their trades went on during the day, their fights during the night. Traders worked long days and slept during the nights, fighters worked long nights and slept during the days. It made recharging difficult, but they managed.

They moved up the small stairwell to their studio apartment and disappeared inside without catching any attention. Sunstreaker turned on the lights and they were bathed in different color shines. Not just from the lights, which were a bit of a standard soft white glow, but from Sunstreaker's wall paintings. During his efforts within their trade partnership, Sunstreaker had learned how to reclaim paint from scrapped parts, more-or-less. He used mining debris to make charcoal and re-liquefied paint to draw designs and color the walls. The recovered paints weren't pure, but the fragments of metal were small. They made for interesting random reflections of light and paint gloss against the canvas walls.

The floors were covered in piles of materials and parts stolen from the yards. While only half were more than waist-tall, there were really only 3 clear paths: door to kitchenette, door to berths, berths to washracks. They had two single berths, but usually the berths were pushed up against each other. Like now.

They moved past to the berths, Sideswipe eyeing his piles and taking mental inventory for plans when he could get sit back up. Less than 20 strides had them across the rooms and ungracefully landing together on the berths. Sideswipe pushed Sunstreaker up a little bit.

"Hey, hey!" The yellow one protested, pushing back. "I'm not a sparkling! Knock it off."

"I don't need your infected hip rolling into me."

"Dumb aft," Sunstreaker cursed. He settled back down. "So, is there anything you think you got a decent chance of selling or trading tomorrow? I think I can do some more yard work and get myself to the clinic alone."

Sideswipe pulled out the vial and placed it on the safest wall shelf. "Go to the clinic first before using that. I'd rather leave it as reserve. The clinic could have meds tomorrow, but not in a few orns. Don't worry about hunting for more stuff to sell. I've got enough for now that I think I can find a demand source for the next few orns."

"I want to keep looking," Sunstreaker insisted. "I'm not slacking off."

Sideswipe burst out laughing. "Slacking off? Bro, don't be dumb."

"Don't call me dumb, dumb-aft!"

"You're the dumb-aft. If you weren't working so hard between the two of us, that stab wouldn't have happened." He grabbed Sunstreaker's hand, nudged it at the wound, and then just held his hand for comfort. The infection had been painful, and still was, radiating heat from his repair nanites working so hard.

Sunstreaker shrugged. "If I'd been more careful, then I would've been fine."

"The _high-totty-high-high_ classes got caught off-guard by that acid rain downfall. I heard some councilmech got his helm crown melted off. You can't blame yourself when they in their fancy homes with their fancy equipment still got burned. If anything, you did better than them since you had almost no acid rain burns."

"Yeah, because I jumped like a scared turbofox under cover and right into a warped T-beam. I fracking impaled myself on a dirty beam and didn't clean it out right."

"Hey, you heard what those nurses said," Sideswipe argued, squeezing his brother's hand tight. "Without the right medical tools you wouldn't have gotten all of those splitters and scrapings. I'm not mad you got hurt trying to protect yourself when you were alone in that yard. There's only one thing I'm pissed about, and it's that I didn't call you out on hiding the growing pain for nearly 4 orns. I got too caught up in securing buyers for your finds. But right now I'm too exhausted to do more than say 'boo Sideswipe,' and I _know_ you are too."

"Fine," Sunstreaker agreed. He started powering down his systems. Sleepily he asked, "Before I forget, anything I need to know about that medic?"

"Ah, nah. He was weird, going on about job things and me being smarter than a normal black pit fighter. Dunno. Might have been trying to get a free frag with those compliments and fake maybe possible potential job chance suggestions."

"Gee, sounds fake," Sunstreaker teased, his optics off and his helm heavy.

"For real. Real fake." Sideswipe stretched his abused joints, trying to lie so said joints might snap back into alignment while he recharge. If Sideswipe was going to hope for a better chance in his life, he'd pick his own body over another's words. "I'll give you the run down next time we need to make it back to the pits."


	2. Chapter 2

Sunstreaker waited in the clinic’s tiny patient room for the nurse to release him. He wanted to leave and not stick around for someone else’s schedule to free up, which for a clinic nurse was far more difficult than it should be by all rights. Luckily he’d been able to get the second-to-last vial available for that orn and the nurse suggested he come in at the very absolute start of their joors for his next dose. That was earlier than Sunstreaker usually onlined, but he managed to almost make it this orn so he’d make it the next one.

Finally the nurse entered and checked his vitals one more time. “Looks like you’re in the clear. See you bright and early tomorrow.” The nurse left faster than Sunstreaker.

The yellow twin wasted no more time, taking off and worming his way through the lines while trying to keep his paint job from touching the unkempt mass. His first task done, he was now onto his second: getting paint for him and Sideswipe.

The red twin had left for his trade deals looking like the pit he pulled himself out, and he decided to wear that for the deal. Not as a black-market gladiator, but as a mech who’d fight gangs to get his deals done. That’s how he’d ended the previous orn, so despite receiving no marks from the encounter the story wasn’t exactly a lie. His trades for the orn would likely run long, given they were mostly happening in the surlier sects of Kaon. Those areas had good returns for resalvaged scrapped parts because they needed it most. Sometimes it was for a hero of the poor, sometimes it was for a “provider for the poor.” This orn’s meetings were with the later, and the ones who used the term “provider” with a very loose definition. They paid well, at least, for Sideswipe’s discretion.

Sideswipe insisted Sunstreaker not go to the salvage yard, pointing out that if the pits still had some acid rain mixed into the ground, then the salvage yard would, too. The bite in the yard’s acid would be worse since it wouldn’t be beaten out of the ground. Given that Sunstreaker’s repair nanites were already laboring hard for his infection and wound, he reluctantly agreed.

Sunstreaker found the quiet corner he visited for body paint, taking the stairs down below street-level. “Stoplight,” he greeted, his tone gruffer than he meant for his paint supplier.

“Nice to see you too,” the mech replied from behind his counter, his words smooth as his well-shined and detailed paint job. “Need more paint? You don’t look like it, other than whenever you no longer need that bandage.” He gestured with an open-hand finger point. “I swear it’s like you have an addiction.”

“Sideswipe needs paint and I’m going to need it. Possibly a lot of it.”

“Taking off for the pits tonight? Fighting as twins?”

“No, just me. Sides has business.”

“I hear there’s acid in the pits.”

“The bottom of the barrel ones. I need you to get me up a level,” Sunstreaker stated, his voice dropping a few octaves as he approached the counter. He leaned over the glass.

Stoplight’s optics glowed. “Hence the paint.”

“Yeah.”

“I can do that. One of my _other_ clients will be picking up his paints later. My usual cut, plus paint costs.” The reality of the matter was Sunstreaker _was_ part of the _other_ clients, and the “other” Stoplight referenced was his high-end, legitimate customers that he overcharged, based on how well he could size up their cred flow and cred spending. Sometimes he and Sideswipe even worked jobs together, thanks to the mutual benefits of their combined skills. Stoplight use those overcharges to cover any discounts he gave at the literal underground second business of his. For most he sold paints he couldn’t sell his real customers, but for the twins and a few others he sold them quality paint. Usually his costs came not in direct creds, but favors or earnings.

“Yeah.”

“Meet me at their usual gate. Sideswipe going to know?”

Sunstreaker growled. “No. You tell, the deal’s off and I take this paint as a penalty fee.”

“No need to get angry,” he chided. “I doubt I’ll see him, but just in case. Stay here and don’t start sniping about the paints up front again. You almost cost me a customer last time.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The mech disappeared in back where he kept the good stuff hidden, and Sunstreaker browsed the paint selections of the unfriended. Not that Sunstreaker considered Stoplight a friend, but even the brawler could act like a friend. Mechs didn’t believe so, citing it as an exclusively Sideswipe trait. Sunstreaker just needed the right incentive, and quality body paint was one of the few right ones.

“Here’s the box.” Stoplight carried a full metal box, his arms barely getting around it. “I figure whatever got Sideswipe messed up, and what ring you’ll be fighting in, will need a lot of paint.”

Sunstreaker eyed the box, trying to gauge the amount of paint without coming across as untrusting. How much was in there would translate into a number of minimum fights, and he was calculating already two. “That looks like two regular fights worth of earnings.”

“More like three and a half.”

“How do you figure?” he demanded. “Are we suddenly not getting your little discounts?”

“Yes you are, but I know you want only the best, and the best this orn is quite good. Unless you want to settle for you and your twin having second best?” he offered, pretending to offer.

Sunstreaker could never let himself go with the second best available. Sideswipe could easily go second best, but his twin deserved better for going so far to get Sunstreaker his meds. “Fine. Fourth fight will be half payout, half cut?”

“I’m willing to go half payout on the fourth and forego my cut on the second half, if you promise to fight the mech during the fourth match harder than normal. His handler needs to be taken down a notch, and it’s an actual true handler-fighter relationship. I don’t know for sure which of his fighters he’ll use. Whoever it is, I want you to beat him bloody in a way that defies the energy levels one expects a fighter to have left by the fourth fight.”

“Then give me energon shots that a lower level gladiator wouldn’t have access.”

“You’re asking for something that’ll add at least two more fights, bringing it up to six total. You really want to have to fight a minimum of six times?” He set the box on the counter and slid it closer to the other mech.

Sunstreaker walked over to his box, narrowing his optics on Stoplight. “You’ll leave it at 3.5 and get me the energon. Whatever you’re planning on your bets for that fight will more than cover it.”

“True. Fine.” From his subspace he pulled three clear containers, small enough to fit in Sunstreaker’s palm each. “Take one at the second fight, struggle the third, and then two at the fourth. Up my odds. Don’t you dare get caught with these. Put them in something else, some other closed case that’ll pass security. Surely you’ve got something from your scrap rescuing to switch out the containers.”

Sunstreaker took and examined the containers. The consistency and particular shade of pink indicated upper-level gladiator grade energon. Not illegal but they’d certain reduce odds on the bets favoring him.

This energon would certainty give him a boost, at two would be a kick. They also came with an increase in aggression. Going overboard during his fourth fight wouldn’t be a problem with two running in his systems. “Fine.”

He subspaced the vials and the box. “Later.”

“Be seeing you. Half-joor before the first matches.”

Sunstreaker left and continued onto running errands and fetching supplies the twins needed.

||||

“Glad you’re on time,” Stoplight greeted. His paint job was different, a temporary cover that matched the local low-middle class.

Sunstreaker refused an answer, having mentally engaged in his gladiator mindset on the ride.

“Right,” Stoplight muttered on the ex-vent. “Moving along, then. Just to let you know, a few names from the next ring up are going to be fighting here. There was a bust so they’ve gone down one level until someone knocks someone else off, or however they do it at that level.”

“Pay offs, not killings,” Sunstreaker almost growled, more from his mental state than actual opinion about the conversation.

“I hear this bust was different. Some new mech on Sentinel’s enforcer taskforce. I _know_ payoffs are usually used, but I don’t know what they do for mechs that don’t have enough dirt to stick some creds against. Let’s get going to your temp handler.”

They went through security in passing through the entrance. The fighter pulled out a box of what looked like medicine doses for his wound but was instead the energon inside syringes, with a film cover inside to give it a blue hue that was most definitely not energon.

His handler greeted them, “Sunstreaker, Yellowlight.”

Sunstreaker glanced as Stoplight, deadpan. Stoplight chuckled and only supplied, “Can’t change paint but not a name. Yellowlight seemed fitting for my role today.”

Sunstreaker only grunted. His concerns was earning enough for energon and supporting a couple rounds of his brother’s drinking habits so he didn’t feel so icky about Sideswipe paying for his medical needs, and for having to consume worse energon for Sunstreaker’s sake. A few good cubes and quality drinks at a bar, and they’d be on the same ground, as far as that icky feeling went. “When’s my first match?”

“Third. What’s with the bandage?”

“Got cut. Nothing serious enough to stay out of the matches.”

“At least tell me there’s enough bandages so we don’t have to keep calling a doctor to change them.”

“Yeah,” he replied. He had asked the nurse to over pad his wound dressing for exactly that reason. It wouldn’t hold up to four fights, but it’d be a start. His handler would call a doctor once the bandages turned filthy.

Sunstreaker’s first fight went smooth, if not almost too quickly before the mech was unconscious. His padded knuckles took such little beating from his punches that they didn’t need repainting yet.

Sunstreaker had hidden the body paint box under the berths, in case Sideswipe came home for a break. He didn’t and so Sunstreaker left the box there, should Sideswipe come home early and before Sunstreaker could make it back. Chances were his brother was out drinking at the bar where the bartender let Sideswipe have a one-orn open tab. That was a double-edge sword, depending on how much creds Sideswipe took for his dealings.

For his second fight he waited until everyone was busy watching another fight between well-matched fighters, for him to sneak a shot with the syringe. He pretended to go for the neck and somehow missing it, getting it in his mouth. No one noticed the bad acting.

When he stepped into the ring, floor still made of dirt but as _clean_ dirt, he could feel the energon pumping through his veins, and he swore even his muscle cables felt like there was nothing he couldn’t overcome. The fight _will_ end in his favor. His green opponent, similar to him but without head fins, wouldn’t be walking. After all, his earnings on the first fight were lower than expected because of the fast win. Now was a good time to make that up.

He squatted his legs slightly, angled his upper body straight at the mech in front of him for using his broad chassis and shoulders, and his narrowed angry optics to intimidate his opponent. He didn’t need to make himself a small target.

These rings used better starts than the ones from yester-orn, the flash not blinding either fighter. The green one charged Sunstreaker head on, straight at Sunstreaker’s chassis. Sunstreaker didn’t move until the mech was terrifying close – terrifying for anyone else. Faster than Green, Sunstreaker pivoted his back leg, leaned back and when the mech narrowly missed his body as his momentum carried him forward. Sunstreaker tightened his core like the world’s fastest abdominal crunch, pulled his leg and bent body back, slamming both elbow and knee into an up-down pincer attack to the mech’s abdominal plates and lower back.

Green cried out, his plating scrapping along Sunstreaker’s elbow and knee as they slowed his momentum to a stop. Sunstreaker dropped his knee and used his other hand as an upper cut to knock the mech away. He scanned his knee and elbow, seeing his own yellow paint scrapped and stained green in a few spots.

Sunstreaker snarled and charged the mech, kicking his curled frame up. He grabbed the mech and flung him into a forced standing position. Giving the mech only a moment to catch up and un-stun his processor, Sunstreaker blocked the first blow. He punched the second blow, knuckles-to-knuckles and the mech cried out again. Sunstreaker’s plating on his knuckles were toughened by extensive nanite repair buildup.

The yellow mech grabbed the arm, twisting it behind Green’s back, and then applying pressure to both shoulder and the damaged knuckles. He held the position until Green tapped out, feeling his shoulder slowly, agonizingly dislocate and his knuckles begin folding.

Sunstreaker left the match, knowing that he left the mech able to walk but willing to let it go for now. That’s what the fourth fight would give him, whoever his opponent might be.

“You need new bandages,” his handler grunted as he examined the damage. “Anything I need to pass onto the doctors?”

“No,” he grunted right back, nearing a growl. His infection was under control.

“Next fight isn’t too far off. I moved it up one, given how fast you must have burned through that one ‘shot.’”

He leaned close enough to Sunstreaker’s audio to almost give him shudders, and not in the fun way. “As in, I moved it up to time you losing the boost and getting tired from it for your third match. Don’t disappoint or win quick. The less quick, the better.”

The twin dismissed himself from his handler, walking to a bench in the closest medical tent. After almost four breems he could feel the aggression dissipate and the first sense of tiredness. He offlined his optics and concentrated on staying in the fight.

“Sunstreaker.”

Onlining his optics, Sunstreaker was thrown off. “Flatline.”

“Yes. I thought it was you, when the handler described a yellow mech needing bandages replaced by his hip due to a supposed cut.”

“Didn’t know you worked this ring.”

“I work one ring up, going every-other-one ring level. The bust has me down here.” He shrugged and bit his lip. “Let’s change that bandage.”

“Whatever.” Sunstreaker wasn’t about to give the impression of friendship to a mech who last spoke to Sideswipe suspiciously.

He waited for Flatline to bring up Sideswipe’s name, which he did as soon as the bandage started being peeled back. “How’s your twin? Sideswipe.”

“Only got the one. Hence ‘twins’, not ‘triplets.’”

“Yes, sorry,” he laughed, it stilted like he regretted the foolishness. “Is he not here?”

“No, he’s working.”

Flatline grimaced. “He’s not walking, is he?” The mech wasn’t referring to the physical act of literal walking.

“No.”

“What’s he doing, then?”

“Not that.”

“Ah,” Flatline decided to let it go until the bandage was almost changed. “Are you fighting for your meds?”

“No.”

“Then what? Fuel?” The medic stopped and looked at Sunstreaker with a tightened expression.

Sunstreaker realized the doctor would likely stick to asking this question. “Yeah, fuel and paint. Paint for Sideswipe for yester-orn, me for this time. I shouldn’t lose as much paint as him. The ground isn’t sticking and eating paint.”

“No.” Flatline’s optics were cast down, and he resized Sunstreaker, for whatever he previously thought. “You and your brother aren’t doing so well.”

“We’re doing fine,” he snapped. “If that’s your attitude, then go away. Go away now.”

“Easy,” the immediate response came, Flatline pulling his hands up to his chassis with open palms facing out. “I’m making the observation. Your brother saved my life, or at least the permanent quality of my life, and I’ve been wondering how to pay him back. That vial didn’t feel like enough.”

‘ _I know the feeling,_ ’ Sunstreaker empathized with the part regarding paying Sideswipe back for his behavior. This case being positive behavior showed it wasn’t just confusing for those who _knew_ the red mech. “So what’s that got to do with saying we’re not doing well?”

“I know a mech who could use a mech or two to guard the front of his warehouse for a few orns. I thought maybe you’d like a job, or at least Sideswipe. Good pay, fair treatment.”

“No thanks, we’re good.” Sunstreaker wasn’t about to give up their decent life, even if he was measuring it against the poorest mechs in Kaon. The twins started off there, when they were young, and now they were at the best they’ve ever been. It’d been a long fight up, and he wasn’t about to ruin it on some pretty promises.

Flatline shook his head. “Just think about it.” He pulled away before he was rejected again, knowing someone else needed tending. There was always someone.

Sunstreaker stood up and immediately realized he was slower. Whatever Stoplight supplied him was not normal top-of-the-line gladiator energon. There was clearly something spiked in the mixture.

Inside the ring Sunstreaker tried anticipating his opponent better, but Sunstreaker was a brawler and his opponent structured his fighting style around his flexibility. Attack move predictions for different fighting styles weren’t his forte.

In the end Sunstreaker did manage to win by forcing a processor electrical blackout when he got his opponent into a chokehold, but he had more dents and a cut knuckle. What was worse than any of that was when he neared the ring gate and saw the face of one very angry Sideswipe, still looking like he came from his own fights not even a full orn ago.

“What the hell!” The red twin snapped, ending on a hiss when Sunstreaker stepped inside the gate. He pushed the yellow brother’s shoulder hard, smacking a dent. He ignored Sunstreaker’s wince. “Earlier I thinking to myself ‘hey, you know what? Maybe I should put down the high-grade and go spend time with my sick brother,’ only to be greeted by an empty apartment.”

“How’d you know I was here?”

“Excuse me,” Sunstreaker’s handler appeared and ushered them to the side. “Fourth fight’s in five matches.”

“He’s not fighting,” Sideswipe pushed the mech’s hands away.

“He owes four fights.”

Sideswipe stopped cold. “Go away,” he icily informed the handler. “He and me need to speak privately.”

As soon as the handler was gone, Sunstreaker decided to try and distract his angry brother. “It’s ‘him and I,’ you illiterate.”

“I’m not illiterate! Is this for the box under the berth? It’s just paint. Looks like two, _maybe_ three matches at max.”

“How did you find it?”

“I had a present for you to cheer you up and I figured under the berth was a good spot to hide it, too,” Sideswipe retorted. “Not sure you deserve a present now. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Before Sunstreaker got past the dull aches of dents the fight before his fourth one started. “Cover me.”

“Why?”

He pulled out a box and showed the syringes. “I need to take these.”

“That’s not your meds.”

“No, they’re more like booster shots. I was warned to take two before this match. No idea why, but it probably has to do with the ring above this getting busted and having to temporarily merge the two.”

“Really?” Sideswipe almost protested the booster shots, but the last part was too interesting. Plus, if it were true, Sunstreaker would need booster shots. Although his brother could be absolutely terrifying, running on low energon kept him from really cutting loose in a fight.

Sunstreaker took them as soon as he saw the match take an obvious turn who would win. He didn’t want the boosters to kick in while he was talking to Sideswipe. When done, the two walked up to the gate and peered past the fighters. Instantly they both knew what the fourth fight would entail.

“Slag, that’s Swindle,” Sideswipe ex-vented. “His fighters are nasty, I hear. That’s why he’s got a far-reaching rep, all the way down to the bottom. Who are you fighting?”

“Dunno…” Sunstreaker murmured. His fuel pump was pumping harder and the boosters were kicking in faster. “But they’ll lose.”

“Totally, duh. I believe in you,” Sideswipe encouraged, not feeling as encouraged himself. Sunstreaker was on low actual energon, running on two performance boosters, with a serious injury, so the scale wasn’t tipped in his favor. The aggression Sideswipe knew that’d come, plus the increased strength and speed, was at least not tipping the scale entirely in his opponent’s favor.

The fighters cleared and Swindle’s chosen came out first. Both of their intakes hitched. Sunstreaker whispered, “Isn’t that the dishonored enforcer, Barricade? Brutality Barricade?”

“Yup. Please don’t die or get hospitalized.”

“I’m supposed to beat him bloody.”

“You really should’ve asked ‘who’ first…”

Sunstreaker avoided answering the question because it was time to move into the ring. The boosters were still raising his energon levels, his performance, and his aggression. He could feel an urge to rip off that smug-smiling mech’s head, just so he could reset his mouth. Sunstreaker froze for a klik after that thought. ‘ _Wow, dark. I need to find out if there’s something else in these boosters._ ’

~Doorwings, bro. Remember the doorwings. I heard a mech just now say that Barricade’s doorwings are desensitized, so everyone goes for the chevron but misses. Desensitized doorwings are still decent targets,~ Sideswipe recommended before blocking the bond so Sunstreaker could concentrate.

Barricade’s smug smirk grew and brought his claws into Sunstreaker’s view by sharpening them on each other. This time Sunstreaker did drop into a smarter stance, forcing out the needy wishes for his own claws.

The horn sounded and the light blinked.

The two charged each other at the same time, Sunstreaker focused on dodging the first slash and when he succeeded by ducking below it, he twisted his torso to jam a punch up into Barricade’s underarm, intending to dislocate the shoulder by forcing it up and _into_ the rotary socket.

The dodged claws swooped down and cut down Sunstreaker’s exposed hip, slicing near the bandage. Sunstreaker howled and the rush of boosters-rich energon told him to _kill_ now.

With no more thoughts into battle strategy, Sunstreaker went into an angry rage, using his strength and brawler-style specialties to attack at an angle. Occasionally he managed to change it up with a straight attack. When he got the angle right he kept pushing back at Barricade, getting shots into the closest doorwing. His mind ignored the cuts he was getting, even the one to a head fin.

Sunstreaker landed a punch at Barricade’s jaw hinge and the mech stumbled back. Following right by him, Sunstreaker grabbed his shoulders and yanked him down to pin him doubled over, kneeing him as hard as possible right in the armor over his fuel pump.

Barricade lashed out and cut Sunstreaker’s injury and the mech had enough. With one hand he wrenched Barricade sideways and grabbed a doorwing. He pulled back, forcing the doorwing to move in a way the hinges weren’t meant to move. Barricade screamed and Sunstreaker kept pulling until he heard the sickening sounds of hinges breaking.

Barricade dropped and Sunstreaker kicked him onto his back, onto that doorwing, and then sat down on his to do as told to work off his debt. No one would stop him until Barricade was unconscious or tapped out. For good measure Sunstreaker pressed both peds onto Barricade’s hands as his hands made blow after blow.

Finally Swindle’s fighter fell offline, but a Sunstreaker still burning on boosters didn’t notice.

~STOP!~ Sideswipe screamed at him.

That jerked Sunstreaker out of his furor. He looked down at his opponent, and then back at his hands. The ring master was running at him, and yanked him off. He was declared the winner and then shoved out of the ring.

“Geez, look at you!” Sideswipe fretted. “You’re bleeding. Your handler called a medic back.”

“No, that’ll mean it’s – ”

“Sunstreaker! Sideswipe!”

“ – Flatline.”

They both saw him at the same time. “You need to come back to the tent now. No, you need the actual medbay. That’s a lot of cuts and something’s keeping your energon from clotting.”

Sunstreaker growled and both other mechs mistook it as aggression at Flatline. In reality he was growling at the absent Stoplight. Gladiator energon be damned, this was clearly altered. He also growled at himself for letting Stoplight basically drug him.

Sideswipe and Flatline moved him to the medbay, Sunstreaker’s energy bleeding fast once the boosters were finally out of his system. Flatline worked fast, patching up Sunstreaker. At least Sunstreaker could take some comfort in knowing he had enough paint to cover it all up.

Sunstreaker could feel himself starting to doze off from the loss of energy and from the pain medication. His attention managed to stay on and comprehend the conversation between Flatline and Sideswipe, but not enough to participate.

“You both need to get out of the pits,” Flatline insisted suddenly.

“We’re in the pits only when need be,” Sideswipe informed him.

“Whatever you’re doing isn’t enough pay. You need to get out.”

“And what do you suggest to mechs like us?”

“I know someone. Pays well, treats mechs like you well. He’ll even get you real energon. He needs a couple of guards for a warehouse.”

“I’m not some drug lord’s guard mecha-wolf.”

“He doesn’t peddle drugs.”

“Whatever it is, I don’t want anything to do with it. We know what we’re doing,” Sideswipe insisted, “you’ve just seen us at a couple of bad orns. Don’t assume you know us.”

“What if I give you the rest of your brother’s needed meds just to meet him? And a couple of energon cubes for him?” Flatline’s words and tone were desperate.

Sideswipe’s optics narrowed. “What’s with the gifts?”

“I owe him some guards, and I know he always pays his guards no matter how they come to him. I want to repay my debt to you. It’s a weapons warehouse, but it’s not being used against anyone society would miss, okay? Only a handful are allowed to use it, and none are gang-affiliated. His last guards got stupid and shot up some ex’s house.”

“So that’s _all_ this is? A way for you to work off two debts at once?”

“Yes, if it makes you feel better to know that. It will still benefit you. Guaranteed meds for your brother alone has to be worth it.”

Sideswipe huffed. “Fine, I’ll met with him when he’s ready. Sunstreaker needs to rest. When do we met?”

“Now. I called him here when I saw Sunstreaker. He arrived in time for the last fight and was impressed.”

“Glad to know someone liked my brother’s insane attacks and total ignoring of his wounds. What’s his name?”

“Deadlock.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bunny didn’t want to be set aside. Said "nope."
> 
> I don't think this counts as an archive violence warning, but there is a couple of gore spots.

Sideswipe followed Flatline to the mech the medic wanted him to meet, but only after a large nurse agreed to watch over Sunstreaker for a fee, which Flatline paid. While Barricade went to a different medbay, the one Sideswipe called the “Loser Bay,” he didn’t trust someone from one gladiator level up to take Sunstreaker’s over-victory personally. Especially since the twins weren’t able to pay the fees to enter that level, which made others often assume they couldn’t compete. The gladiators there usually had real handlers and much higher arrogance, which meant Swindle had options if he took Sunstreaker’s win as a slight against his operations and fighters. The nurse would continue repairs and stop any confrontations.

They kept walking until they passed everyone but the stragglers hanging out in the back hallways. Deals went down here, where the lower-middle class had enough vested in appearing clean. Even inside the pit crowds they kept up appearances in hopes they’d make to middle-middle class, but anyone wanting something less than savory usually wander back here. That factoid made Sideswipe more than suspicious. “I thought you said he wasn’t a dealer.”

“He’s not. Nor does he do any trafficking. I’ll let him tell you what he is. He’s a mech that likes his privacy, that’s all.”

“Whatever.” Privacy was a two-way straight, one built on trust. In this case Sideswipe wanted enough potential witnesses to deter any impulsive bad ideas Deadlock might have for him.

A pair of red glowing optics were faintly visible at the end of completely cleared hallway. Sideswipe could easily infer who owned those optics. When they were close enough for a multi-colored mech to appear, Flatline chose then to greet him. “Hey Deadlock, this is Sideswipe. He’s the one I told you about yester-orn, and the twin of this one is the one you saw fight several breems ago.”

Deadlock crossed his arms and his optics glittered like he was given a shiny new toy to examine. “Sideswipe. I hear you know how to fight. I also hear you know how to fake being a spawn of Unicron to scare the life out of a few dumb thugs.”

“Yeah.” Less was probably more at this point.

“You fight a lot?”

“Often enough.”

“And between fights? What’s your income?” Deadlock re-crossed his arms, and Sideswipe knew this was going to be a sticking point to the mech.

Despite that clue, Sideswipe was still stubborn. “I don’t peddle, walk, or hang out at brothels. My business is my own.”

“If that’s the case, then you can be on your merry little way. I have no interest in stealing or dealing with whatever you do, but I need to know it won’t affect what I do. That you aren’t diseased or carrying viruses, or mixed up in anything that calls unnecessary attention. Including jail time.”

“Not diseased or some virus’s host,” Sideswipe argued, vents puffing hot air at the idea. Sunstreaker’s infection was short-term. “We’re black-market traders by light, gladiators by night. Some nights, when trading isn’t enough.”

 _That_ was a good response. Deadlock smiled wolfishly and Flatline made a gargled sound, attempting to mask his surprised, but he looked pleased. Deadlock replied, “I think I might like you. With that kind of background, you could work your way up if you ever wanted. That said, I’m still going to have to vet you and Sunstreaker.”

“Vet us for what?”

“Merc related work.”

“You’re a mercenary,” Sideswipe asked deadpan. “I hear a lot of bad things about your kind. Murder-for-hire kind.”

Deadlock dismissed that with a wave. “That’s one subgroup within our groups. You’d start at guards, and can even stay guards if you want. You’ll have probably the least exciting jobs among mercs that exist, but you won’t be doing anything you might find questionable. You can keep up your black-market deals so long as they aren’t anything that can get you prosecuted. We don’t like undue attention nor snitches, and we’ve got people that take care of that.”

“Not a snitch. I’m good enough most of my regular ‘clients’ pay extra for privacy and know they’ll get it. We sell resalvaged goods. No drugs, trafficking, weapons, or anything that calls attention just by accidently witnessing it. Untraceable to us since we pull it straight from the yards.”

“Smart. Excellent. I need fighters capable of handling an attack, and smart mechs that can learn to read mechs, and know who’s trying to scout the warehouse and who’s just lost and needs directions. The latter requires discretion, as does when things happen inside my warehouse.”

"So what, you want to us as smart guns for hire?" Being referred to as smart was odd to Sideswipe. That wasn't a word used in their world. More like "conniving" when one was considered more mentally capable or forward thinking than the average poverty-class mech.

"Something like that, but we call it ‘merc support’."

"Sunstreaker and I aren't your _support_. We know that _support_ usually ends up 'supporting' other needs."

Deadlock snorted. "You can cut that attitude. I've been in that world, and not as a power player. Not only do I not tolerate that, but my mechs know firsthand that I don't. One tried something like that and I executed him."

Sideswipe cycled his optics. "Alrighty then, I guess we can trust that anyone who tries something we can remind them of that execution."

The mercenary laughed derisively. "Oh, they don't need reminders, but you're free to do so – should you prove yourselves to me, to be that close to my operations."

That got Sideswipe to narrow one optic and raise the other. "You're your own boss? Because Sunstreaker and I aren't in the habit of 'proving ourselves,' and even if we did we aren't doing it twice."

"I own the warehouse and the mercs who access it work for me. We work on contracts, so 'boss' is a rather lose definition," he pointed out. "And if you want regular energon and enough creds to go to a _real_ hospital -," he tipped his chin at the silent medic, "- you'll prove yourselves by one more fight. The warehouse isn't so close to my main operations location that you'll have instant backup if something happens. I want you and Sunstreaker to fight one match together. You can wait until last calls for matches. I have energon and Flatline here can be commandeered from the pit leaders by me so he can patch you up. At least enough that you both can stand right."

Deadlock glanced deliberately to Sideswipe's knees, bringing everyone's optics down with him. "You're knees aren't completely in alignment, and I doubt the rest of your leg joints are, too. I saw it when you walked. Just like I see your cracked optic. I doubt Flatline can replace an optic..."

"No," Flatline answered to his contact's prompting.

"... but he can realign joints. And if you fight well with a cracked optic, I'll be more impressed. What do you say? Fight for me in the pits, and if you do well you'll have _real_ jobs starting tomorrow, with a signing bonus of a week's worth of regular grade energon. Each."

Who could say no to that? Sideswipe wanted to say no, that he and Sunstreaker were their own bosses and they liked it that way. They weren't exactly financially stable as their own bosses, however. Sideswipe's trades went well enough this orn to get a couple of drinks at a bar without guilt that he was spending Sunstreaker's potential medication creds, but just yester-orn they were in a bind because they couldn't afford a hospital or clinic that actually stocked its medications.

"Fine, one fight, as late as Sunstreaker's - our - handler can schedule it."

"Who's your handler?"

"Dunno his name. We usually don't ask, since the same ones attend the same matches almost as much as we come and go. Not much point in knowing a name we rarely use twice."

Flatline interjected, "I'll point him out to you later, Deadlock. Sideswipe, why don't you head back now and talk to Sunstreaker? I need to chat for a moment with Deadlock."

"Ah yes, about your situation. Fun." Deadlock un-subspaced two _normal_ sized cubes of energon. Sideswipe had forgotten what normal size meant. Deadlock handed the amazed mech two cubes, each taking up a whole hand to hold.

"Just like that?" Sideswipe barely kept his voice above a whisper, mesmerized by the weight of so much fuel. With this their tanks would be easily half-full. What did that even feel like?

"Just like that. Now hurry; you'll need to sign up for the fight before the last slots are filled."

Sideswipe subspaced the cubes and briskly walked away, trying to keep his joints in line with his steps. On his way to Sunny he passed the handler with another fighter and told him to schedule a double fighter match fight but make sure it was during the last call matches.

He entered the medbay and saw Sunstreaker sitting up but partly doubled over on his bad side. "You okay?"

"Enough. One of Swindle's fighters tried coming in here, and I thought I was going to have to get nasty right back, but that nurse is capable of being one hell of a non-healer."

“Glad to know Flatline knows how to pick ‘em. Speaking of Flatline picking mechs, check this out.” Sideswipe pulled out a cube and eager pushed one into Sunstreaker’s hands. He helped guide Sunstreaker into a sitting position against the berth’s helmboard before pulling out his own. “How great is this?”

Sunstreaker stared at it, both hungry and distrusting. Sideswipe wanted to down his right now but his twin’s visibly torn state kept his attention. “What’s wrong?”

“You know how my energon lines wasn’t clotting?”

“Thought it finally was.”

“Yeah, but I think something was in those boosters. They killed my energy fast once they were burned.”

“No slag, what was in them?”

“Don’t know,” Sunstreaker admitted. “Stoplight gave me to them. He said nothing about them being mixed with anything.”

Sideswipe stared, anger bubbling his coolant hot. “So tomorrow’s mid-orn news is going to read murder in uptown.”

“Please,” Sunstreaker drawled. “If we’re jumping that far up the crime chain I’d prefer to go after someone a jury might be willing to overlook.” He sipped his energon. “Tastes fine. Giving it a moment to see if something happens. Who’s this Deadlock?”

Sideswipe drank his energon as well, trying not to guzzle it. “Merc. Turns out he needs merc support.” Sunstreaker opened his mouth and Sideswipe spoke over him, feeling the alarm from his twin’s side of their shared spark. “I know, I know. I made the same comment about ‘support,’ and he said the last time someone tried that he executed them himself. He’s got some personal vendetta against that world. Can’t argue with someone like that.”

“Supposedly. I’m not convinced ‘til I see proof he’s not a lying saint.”

Sideswipe shrugged and took another hearty sip, followed by Sunstreaker doing the same. “For better or worse, he seems pretty blunt. He told me he’s not going to consider hiring us unless we fight one match together. Hence this energon.”

Sunstreaker’s optics opened wide. “I’m not sure how well my energon systems are clotting the energon lines and we’re supposed to fight?”

“Flatline is coming to patch us up. We’re supposed to go on as one of the final fights. Doubt we’ll be the final one or two matchups for a ring, but hopefully third.”

Sunstreaker took another sipped and changed their conversation to a private method. ~Just why should we do that?~

~Because I don’t like how difficult it is to get meds and energon.~

~You’ve never complained before! It’s not like yester-orn was the first time we fought for meds.~

~Never cared before. Never had a reason to care. Was something that just was, and we made it work. Now we can try making something better work, if we want. If we don’t like it we’ll quit. Besides, we’ll just be merc support, not actual mercs. He said we’ll be able to continue being traders, so clearly it’s not fulltime. That means he’s not investing that much into us where we can’t walk away.~

Sunstreaker protested, ~So we’re supposed to put our health on the line to see if we’ll get accepted into jobs to pay for our medical costs? Are you out of your mind? Don’t tell me you’ve gone crazy and I’m just waiting for it to cross into my side of the bond.~

~ _You’re_ the crazy one. I’m the one who’s crazy is tagging along behind your lead.~ Another gulp. ~Worse thing that happens is we tap out when things get rough… and then we look like weaklings at this gladiator level. Which is pretty bad. Yeah, okay, it’s too bad. So I guess the question is do we risk getting beaten offline or give up a chance that should you get stabbed again while in the yards we might not get the meds? Not to mention he promised a sort of signing bonus of a week of regular energon for each of us. If tomorrow we find it’s murky merc support orientation and say ‘no way,’ we’ll still have more energon at home then we’ve had in who knows how long.~

Sunstreaker’s optics dropped to his cube and he obligingly took a sip. ~Between the two of us, I think we can take most fighters even as messed up as we are. Fuel helps.~

Sideswipe weakly snickered at the equally weak enthusiasm, and soon Flatline appeared just as the pair finished their energon. The medic rubbed his hands together. “Time to get you two back in working condition. Here’s the medication for the rest of your treatment,” he added, handing it to Sunstreaker. He moved Sideswipe to the adjacent berth. “I’ll hook Sunstreaker to a machine to cleanse his energon of whatever impurities is causing problems. While it works I’ll get your joints back into alignment.”

Sunstreaker was less than happy to have the evasive equipment hooked up to him, but he was relieved to know that whatever was working against him would be gone before the fight. Sideswipe was spending his time contorting his face as much as Flatline was contorting his limbs to push them back into alignment.

When Sideswipe was fixed as best as Flatline could without a spare optic he treated Sunstreaker’s exterior damage. He removed the dents and welded the spots that a fighter would target if left held only by adhesive and thin metal cover. For the hip’s cut and infection he poked a couple of tiny holes through a titanium flex-track-styled cover plate and used a mesh screening below the surface to maintain contaminant-free air flow. That was carefully welded to make sure it didn’t disrupt movement.

When an arena attendant notified them it was nearing their time the twins looked themselves and the other over in the mirror. They were amazed at the difference in treatment by a real doctor with mostly real medical equipment, instead of gladiator and free clinic bandage patch jobs. Tanks slightly over half full, minor pain relievers in their systems, and not having to wearily mind their injuries made more than _some_ difference. Sunstreaker looked almost like he’d been created by welding one mech from different mechs, but he felt better than he had in a long time.

They headed back to their side of the ring’s arena. Sideswipe looked around but couldn’t see the one they needed. “Where’s the handler?”

Sunstreaker frowned. “Don’t know. Maybe he’s further down back?”

From behind and to their sides was a simple, “Sideswipe. Sunstreaker, good meeting you.”

They both sharply spun around to look at the voice. “Deadlock,” Sideswipe both greeted and introduced.

“Looking for your handler? Look no further. I dismissed him and taking over.”

Sunstreaker turned his head sideways and sized the mech up and down. Sideswipe cycled his optics. “Why would you do that instead of watch and judge from the stands?” the red one asked.

“Watching doesn’t tell me what you’re thinking before you enter a fight,” he pointed out. “Come; the fighters you’re going up against are standing in full view from here.” He motioned to a specific spot on the sidewall.

The trio moved over and leaned against the wall. “There they are. Tell me what you see.”

The twins both paled as the coolant flushed their faces. Sideswipe said, aghast, “Swindle and two giant goons. I haven’t seen them before.”

Deadlock nodded. “They aren’t gladiators, but they’ll fight for their buddy Swindle to fix his odds. In this case work to restore them. Their names are Brawl and Vortex, and they’ve got some sort of winnings percentage arrangement with him. Have you heard of them?”

“No…” both replied, feeling the same dread in their sparks.

“Tell me what you see. Sideswipe, you tell me about Brawl; Sunstreaker, Vortex,” Deadlock ordered, secretly pointed to each so not to call attention.

Sideswipe went first since he was the one who got them here. “Brawl’s a tank, and with peds and treads like that I’m guessing he’s loud in a pound-the-ground kind of way. His bulky armor doesn’t look like it was constructed with the idea of dampeners in mind. The lack of control in his restlessness says he’s not one for hanging back. Might have a temper,” he realized, biting his lip. “Itchy tanks aren’t patient tanks.”

“All true,” Deadlock said with praise, as if they weren’t about to fight the itchy, probably violent tank. “How are you going to attack him?”

“Do I have to attack him specifically?”

“Of course not. You and him alone because Sunstreaker and Vortex have moved away, what do you do?”

“Temperamental mechs don’t have much stamina, unless they’re stampeding. Corner him and keep him working hard to get out. With armor gaps like that, it wouldn’t be hard to keep him pinned in a corner once he got there.” Rings didn’t have corners but they did have curves that were almost as hard to get out of as corners, if pressed in right.

“Fair assessment. Sunstreaker?”

“He’s got mech blood all over his rotary blades. He likes going far beyond what’s necessary. To turn his back and cut someone up that bad, based on that spray pattern, he’ll put committing violence above brains. Alone with him, I’d say he’s must vulnerable when he’s turning, and that’s the best time to attack.”

“Good. Do you think you can figure out his main attack style?” A loud ‘ _thump_ ’ told everyone the match before theirs was over and won. “Never mind, time’s up. Remember, they’re both _fighters_ , not gladiators. They aren’t going to follow the unwritten practices of competing gladiators because they don’t know and they don’t care. They only care about bringing Swindle’s winnings stats back up. Having you soundly beat one of his fighters despite being a lower-rated gladiator has done some real damage. Dropped his winnings, reduced the creds that go to his cut.”

Both twins glanced at each other from behind Deadlock’s back, before closing their optics and feeling the bond synchronize. Coordination, hardened gladiator faces, and an equally nasty set of principles to match their opponents. They saw those principles in their opponent’s optics and the way they carried themselves: no respect for their images as gladiators. They would do as they pleased.

Entering the ring over half the crowd roared, the ones who knew the twins by either repetition or from witnessing twin matches. Neither paid much attention to the nicknames others gave them, Fire Red and Scorched Yellow. They didn’t pay attention to their opponent’s intros either, glaring at each deep into their optics. Both Brawl and Vortex glared right back, the latter sneering at the one directly across from him, Sunstreaker.

~We’ll win this. We know these pits, we know the crowds, we know what these two want,~ their sparks both echoed. Together both dropped down into a fighter’s stance but with their hands down by the hips, fists clenched like a gladiator.

Brawl and Vortex laughed, each taking their own fighter stances: Brawl, hunched forward, legs ready to charge; Vortex, partially rotated with his back blades facing Sideswipe, his hands up high.

The horn blew, the light flashed.

Both twins leaped sideways, away from each other and charged the sides of the two lunging forward at where once Sideswipe stood. Sideswipe struck Brawl in the tread with one fist and then countered by hitting the opposite side, right under the tread, aiming to painfully tweak the track gear. Sunstreaker kicked at Vortex’s hip, landing a solid connection.

Neither of the opponents would be caught off guard by surprise. As Vortex fell backwards he brought his arms down and grabbed Sunstreaker’s leg, using his own falling momentum to swing Sunstreaker down is a spiraled crash. Sunstreaker slide across the dirt, landing on several welded cuts. Muscle cables spasmed as he fought back the instinctual reaction to put his energy into getting off of the wounds, and blocking from broadcasting across the synced bond. He kicked up and backwards where he estimated Vortex’s landing location, connecting with a hand in mid-decent to attack his ped.

Brawl rotated his arm _into_ the pain, pinning Sideswipe’s hand between arm and torso. He pulled his arm while squeezing the captured hand. The tread tore into his own torso, taking Sideswipe’s fingers plating with it. Sideswipe blocked his own pain from the bond and used his honed defenses against his own instincts to rip his trapped hand away. He knew doing that would cause more damage, and he felt the damage Brawl did to himself.

Sideswipe’s free hand, the one that struck the tread first, grabbed the tread and used his body weight with a forward leaning position to apply leverage under the tread, forcing the arm into Brawl’s side and less on his fingers. As soon as the pressure released his hand Sideswipe pulled it free enough to wrap said hand on the opposite side of the tread and yank with his whole body, intending to pull it off its gears, if not break it.

When Sunstreaker felt his ped connect with Vortex’s hand he kept the moment going to get it above the hand. He rotated his hips to follow his ped and brought his other ped up, watching now as he caught the hand in a scissor attack. He twisted and wrenched the hand back to him, intended to follow through with a punch while tightening his core muscle cables.

Vortex anticipated the move once he felt the tug on his rotary cuff and moved his body with the pull to curl forward and bring his blades down at Sunstreaker’s exposed leg. His blades began to turn. As soon as Sunstreaker felt the breeze of blade motion starting he let go and curled into himself, summersaulting and sliding back to face Vortex in a crouched position. Despite feeling the pain of a shallow series of nicks in his shin from blades just barely catching him, his whole focus was on his bladed opponent.

Sideswipe pulled hard and felt gaps form between gears and treads. Brawl’s other hand reached around and grabbed Sideswipe’s fingers, fighting to break them by bending them backwards. Sideswipe let go of the tread and went with the pull, bringing his leg up to kick/hook around the back of Brawl’s knee. Brawl snarled and let go of Sideswipe’s fingers to break his fall. Sideswipe pulled his arm out to break his fall as well as he could in a side-forward freefall.

Sunstreaker saw his opponent charge him in a crouched decent with his blades still rotating. He realized he couldn’t roll to the sides without be clipped by those blades. He half-summersaulted back onto his back, intending to get his peds under Vortex and kick him so his momentum would propel him into the wall.

His peds landed and he kept smoothly rolling with Vortex’s body, but the bladed mech grabbed Sunstreaker’s armor collar and pulled him with him. Vortex bounced off the wall blades first, and the wall won against the blades. The metal smashed into crippling bent pieces of metal, tips sheared off. He howled but kept his grip on Sunstreaker, using the yellow twin as his landing pad.

Brawl beat Sideswipe in faster fall-recovery and swung his knee out and wide into Sideswipe’s abdomen, knocking the red twin on his back. He pushed off and landed on Sideswipe, striking the pinned mech in the face. He laughed gleefully with a deep crow. He kept punching. Sideswipe brought his arms up but could only counter-block every third or fourth punch to his shoulders and up.

Sunstreaker was in the same predicament, but with Vortex snarling about his damaged blades. His blocking was better due to less mass on Vortex’s arms to swing passed the block, but he wasn’t getting them all.

~We’ll win this, against these fools,~ their sparks echoed in unison, not to have their spirits defeated as one. Their mind, as a singular mind split across two bodies, saw the relative closeness of the cockeyed body positions of the two enemies. Gathering fortitude, those bodies dropped their arms down and grabbed their opponents’ legs. Both twins bucked and used all their strength to throw the topside mechs off to the side, colliding them with each other. Vortex’s damaged blades caught Brawl in the helm and Brawl’s swinging arm slammed into Vortex’s neck.

Each twin’s body wanted to stay down, the pain of repeated blows and injuries demanding they stop. Together they wouldn’t be stopped by pain; together they were more than just two bodies. Each moved onto their sides and lunged to land on their _opposite_ opponent, switching to keep their enemies off-kilter.

They pushed their enemies’ frames to the ground and started doing what was exactly done to them not a full klik ago. Sideswipe aimed for helm and blades. Sunstreaker used his bigger might to strike treads at their weakest point, altering with helm blows whenever Brawl tried blocking or attacking.

The problem with doing what was done to them was that Vortex and Brawl now knew how to counter. They didn’t share a bond and couldn’t time the moves together, however, leaving them unable to work it to the same perfect timing. Vortex bucked and threw with all his strength when Sideswipe almost landed a punch to his jaw. He tried throwing Sideswipe at Sunstreaker but Brawl was too far behind – and Sideswipe grabbed at Vortex’s blade with his good hand, taking it with him.

Sideswipe’s hand burned from the piercing deep cuts tearing up small capillaries of energon and coolant, electrical connections fritzing above those lines, but Vortex screamed from the blade being ripped out of his back. He thrashed and screamed in rage, teetering on the border of offlining. Sideswipe tried moving to finish the job but found himself in trouble, with one hand torn bloody from being used after first being shredded and now the other sliced and bleeding profusely. He twisted with his core so he could kick and keep kicking the mech’s helm, but he landed too far away to reach. He was down, almost as bad as Vortex. If he could get his legs under him without using his hands he could recover, but his position wasn’t easily undone for standing.

Sunstreaker pinched his legs around Brawl’s torso, almost riding the tank even when Brawl kept trying to buck him off, as Sideswipe had done. He gave up on that idea and started punching Sunstreaker’s legs, focusing on his knees. Sunstreaker involuntarily gasped from the pain of his knee caps being beat with the strength of tank, and he brought his arms over his head, clasped them together, and brought them down as hard as he could into Brawl’s face. The mech’s entire body spasmed, the mech blood from his face spraying Sunstreaker’s in his as he leaned forward into the blow.

Sunstreaker almost had a chances to think himself the victor until an angry hand grabbed him by his head fin, now within easy reaching distance, and instead his thoughts turned to screaming when it was ripped from his helm as his body was flung the opposite direction of Sideswipe.

Neither side got up. The twins tried but couldn’t. Their half sparks as one cried out, wanting to win for more than pride and creds. The two bodies sharing that spark were too broken to recover without help, and neither half could help.

The lights flashed and the horn blew, declaring the match over as a stalemate.

The crowds screamed, both from excitement from the bloodiness of the match and from anger at no clear winner. What composure held at this mid-class crowd was ebbing away by the “stolen” victory of a match too violent.

The twins sparks despaired, the unity breaking as Sideswipe’s curled in grief and Sunstreaker’s seethed. They needed a win. They had to win. They had nothing.

Arena assistants and nurses came rushing to the four mechs, separating them to their arena gates by gurneys. The twins were set down on benches just outside of the ring, the nurses quietly bandaging their bleeding parts.

Deadlock walked between the sets of nurses. “That was… more than just impressive. That was terrifying. They shouldn’t call you Red Fire and Scorched Yellow. They should call you the Twin Terrors.”

“We lost,” Sunstreaker commented, small amounts of energon gurgling from his mouth.

“You came to a draw.”

Sideswipe retorted, “Same thing. The deal was to win.”

Deadlock sniggered at the pair. “Clearly I’ve got my task cut out for me. Teach you two to listen. I said to impress me. I didn’t say win. If I required my team to always win, I wouldn’t have an experienced team.”

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker glanced at each other until it turned into a stare. Finally they looked back at Deadlock. The red twin spoke cautiously, “Are you saying we’re hired?”

“Yes, you’ve got a job. Nurses, take these two to see Flatline. You two, tomorrow be at the address his gives you, by mid-orn. He’ll give you the energon. I think I’m going to like working with my Twin Terrors.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sunstreaker’s half-summersault kick attack comes to you curtsey of cats.
> 
> Need ideas on who seems like a merc possibility that’d be on the same group as the twins or Deadlock. I’d like to have a few names that aren’t OCs. Otherwise it’s OCs and whoever I think to look up, and I prefer to minimize OCs. Even if it's just character nugget appearances.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly an intro-to-the-job chapter, and hence it’s small(er) length. Well, that and August backfired on me after I told a Transformer fic writer that August should be easy for me. :P
> 
> I got plenty of feedback on names. In fact, I came to the conclusion that who says only the twins can have conflict? 
> 
> I’m using all names provided, and I ended up doing team breakdowns with a random name-to-team assignment generator, minus a few I had to pre-assign. See end notes for char team list and general info.

At exactly mid-orn the newly-patched and newly-repainted twins transformed into bipedal mode at the second smallest warehouse, sitting along the back edge of a in a very large industrial park. The square building was probably ten times their body lengths in its length and width. Its paint was the blandest shade of taupe possible, which even Sunstreaker didn't know existed. The building was obviously kept so no one would think easy target, but the few security cameras indicated it wasn't worth an expensive system and therefore lacked wares worth hitting.

If anything, it looked like the most boring job they could have landed. Had it not been for Sideswipe's talk with Deadlock and the amount of energon they bled to get here, they might have headed back to work on securing more trade deals.

Sideswipe half-shrugged. "Non-descript job for a non-descript building, for a mech whose personal details we know are barely more than non-descript."

"So non-descript is non-descript?"

"Isn't a string of 'non-descript' in a way descript?"

Sunstreaker punched Sideswipe in the shoulder.

"He's right," they heard Deadlock.

They looked around but couldn't locate him. Sideswipe called out, "Speakers?"

The nearest door buzzed and opened. Sideswipe responded in kind, with his most ghastly voice, "'Come into my lair,' said the beckoning ominous darkness."

Not expecting the voice, Sunstreaker flinched and then immediately punched Sideswipe's same shoulder harder.

"Ow! Why?"

"For being dumb."

They walked inside and the door slammed shut before the lights flickered, over half only now illuminating. Sideswipe groaned, "Oh good Primus, we totally just walked into a horror flick about a spark eater's lair. Did we tell anyone where to find our wills? Wait, did we ever finish our wills?"

Borderline sinister, possibly even manic laughter came from behind boxed up shelves. "Sideswipe, between Flatline's stories and what I've witnessed, I'd think a spark eater would be hardly anything more than fuel for that dark storyteller inside of you."

When he finally appeared Sideswipe answered. "Same goes with you, Crazy Laugh And Crazy Optics Guy."

Bright optics flashed, paired with a devious smile. "I've been in situations where I was outnumbered, outpowered, and on the losing end of maintaining function. Being the crazier storyteller with the laugh and manic optics can be handy. Don’t tell me you aren’t at least partway aware of that. If you ever want to become mercs and successful ones, I suggest you find your nitch for what gets others to leave you alone even when then have the upper hand." Deadlock smirked.

"So you find me pretending to be a demon spawn of Unicron to be what, endearing?"

He received only a stronger smirk and a backwards helm tilt. "This way. First I’ll explain what I expect of my guards. Nothing grueling for entry-level, as we describe it here, but some can’t handle the discipline it requires."

They travelled to the centralized internal building, which probably took up a quarter of the entire building. Neither twin were quite sure what to make of an office so large, but mostly because how the space inside a private mercenary warehouse could benefit from repurposing some of that area. There were guns of all types, explosives, knives, overlay armor, weird contraptions the twins couldn’t begin to identify, boxes, and a stash of high-performance energon.

Sunstreaker asked, “Isn’t this a bit excessive? How big is your crew?”

“My _team_ has enough regulars and part-timers that we break up into smaller teams or individuals to get as many contracts as we can. Our team’s biggest selling point when we work on client contracts is our ability to take almost any emergency contracts. We can do that because I don’t waste my mecs and we take as much loot from our missions we can.”

“You stole most of this.”

“Claimed and repurposed. From our fallen enemies, targets, or opposing forces. The more we take, the more mission types we can do. Now,” he switched topics as the entered into the room with dozens of screens, “what duties are required of your new jobs. One of you is always in here, and one of you is always out there. Your switch-off checkpoints are for you to work out, but one-to-two joors seem to work best. Who wants to start at the cameras?”

“I will,” Sunstreaker instantly volunteered. He knew Sideswipe would handle a moving position better than a sitting one. He walked along the cameras, visually inspecting each screen. “This is a lot to watch for one mech. Over two-thirds of this is other areas of the park. Don’t know how we’ll be keeping up with this.”

“You’ll be starting the off-shifts. That’s why we’re meeting on a holiday for the park workers. That means the shifts when the park is supposed to be empty. That also means longer and more shifts, but less problems or distractions. This of this as replacing your gladiator time and not your trade dealer joors.”

Both twins watched the cameras, getting a feel for the inner works of the industrial park. Sideswipe remarked, “This is still a ton of cameras to possibly someone slipping through.”

“See this hardline set?” He tapped a small panel in the dead center. “You can either port-in or line-out with this. For your shift the computer assists with the monitoring and will notify you when there’s unexpected activity. It’ll help with the tracking, too. Your job is to evaluate expected, unexpected, and late on-going activity.

“You’ll also need to get a sense when to call the Enforcers and when not. Usually that’s when you get a crazed or recently fired mech wondering around the gate. Occasionally it’s a non-legal paid service. If it’s a deal going down, legal or not, don’t call the Enforcers. Call me. I don’t let others encroach on my territory.”

The twins agreed over their bond to not ask for clarification. “When do we start?”

“Now, unless it’s already too much. Is it? Good, glad it’s not.

“Sunstreaker, I’m assuming you’re my monitor mech, you don’t need to hardline yet. I’m going to walk Sideswipe around the perimeter. Here’s my commlink number.” He sent an ultra-short range comm. burst to both of them with his information. “Comm. me and I’ll talk to both of you simultaneously about my operations while Sideswipe practices perimeter checks.”

“I can do perimeter checks,” the red mech muttered. “I do it for my deals.”

“Constant perimeter checks has different criteria. Plus I’m pretty sure your confusing scouting checks with perimeter checks.”

The two departed, going out a different door. Deadlock started talking as soon as Sunstreaker pinged him so he could leave the line open. “There’s four doors that lead straight out, one to each wall, but none are visible from the outside. They’re for in case something happens and you both need to defend. Just so you know, I’ve only had two incidents and both were handled with two guards. In one of them, they went to opposite corners and each defended two walls.”

“Impressive,” Sideswipe whistled.

“They were. They’ve been promoted enough times that they’re finishing training to be fulltime mercs.”

“You said we’re merc support,” Sideswipe started as he began carefully checking his surroundings via sensors instead of swiveling his helm like a lost mech. “What’s that?”

“Basically you make sure that my mercs are always ready to go, barring their own emergencies or prior arrangements worked out with me. A merc support team is also more cost-effective than having my mercs do non-revue jobs. That’s what this counts as, since no one is paying me to pay you to do this.

“I’m the leader of this group so obviously I care about what merc support is doing, but I’m mostly focused on leading my mercs. Later you’ll meet my second and leader of all merc support. His name is Kup. He handles everything, including all training. He even trains my mercs when they’re coming out of support. Beware, he’s about as soft in his training as my helm is rounded out blunt.”

“ _Soooo_ … not?” It wasn’t like his helm was entirely made of spiked fins.

“Yeah.”

::Will we meet this team?:: Sunstreaker followed them on the screen while checking the others. He wasn’t kidding about this being a holiday for the park. Whatever the holiday’s purpose, mid-orn saw no activity. ::Are these all your cameras?::

“No. One merc is a very good hacker. The ones for my building are mine.”

Curious more about Deadlock’s previous statement, Sideswipe asked, “So if you have a support trainer why are you here? If he’s also your #2, you must trust him.”

“Yes, but I always want to scope out what I’m bringing in before I have him figure out your training. Personal reputation on the team, for one. I don’t bring in scrap for mechs. Speaking of testing my own plans, I like that your scanning intelligently, but you need to slow down your walk. You’re scouting, not perimeter detailing.”

Sideswipe immediately reduced his speed despite considering it unnecessary. The area was completely devoid of even unusual debris. “If we stay, are we always going to be guards?”

“If you want and don’t anger the wrong teammates. Otherwise, the usual structure is guards, warehouse and weapon maintaining, miscellaneous, and finally merc. There’s also medical and upgrades, but obviously that’s not on the usual chain. Flatline heads that. I think you two could easily double as guards and warehouse replenishment, given your background. However, trust doesn’t come immediately for the important roles of making sure wares are always here and ready for the field.”

“I guess that means Kup will be vetting us?” Sideswipe kind of wanted a job like that, controlling the inflow of a warehouse like this.

“Most likely.”

Sunstreaker felt Sideswipe’s lust for the other job reference. The mech had the harden spark of a trader just as much as a fighter. ~So does that mean we’re doing this?~

~You see a problem with this arrangement yet? Aside from this one shift, it sounds like we’ll be doing this non-destructive duty when we’d be fighting for energon scraps.~

~That or you drinking at the bar. We’ll have way more shifts and they’ll be longer than anything at the pits.~

~I can easily shift my bar drinking around to accommodate my new schedule. I’ll miss the darktime drinking, but this is nicer than facing the perpetual possibility that we’d have to risk eating mud.~

Sunstreaker checked the monitor and then the hardline port. Hardlining into a near-stranger’s computer was not a mentally easy task and he didn’t know if Deadlock would force him to just do it, and damn the mental resistance. He’d more likely get this duty, or Sideswipe might do something not smart to the office. If the monitors were anything to go by, his risk wasn’t broken joints but stiff, underused ones.

At least underused joints didn’t come with mandatory repaints. ~Fine, for now we’ll play along.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is actually meeting the team. Well, the team with names. Other teammates, like the other guards, exist but their more periphery and don’t have names (yet).
> 
> FYI: Twin Twist and Topsin being treated as split-spark twins, based on Last Stand of the Wreckers. Although I never saw them say it, based on what happened it seems obvious enough.
> 
> Note these are current roles assigned to them, and not necessarily roles they want. Same goes with teams. Not everyone on Team Deadlock will always stay Team Deadlock, and the same goes with Team Lockdown (Deadlock’s biggest competition for contracts). See end notes for char team list.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> **Team A: Deadlock**
> 
>   * Deadlock: Merc Leader
>   * Flatline: Medical Support
>   * Sideswipe & Sunstreaker: Merc Support, Guards
>   * Cliffjumper: Merc Support, Maintaining Armory & Supplies
>   * Kup: Deadlock’s #2, Leader of Merc Support and part time merc
>   * Jazz: Merc, Hacker and Sabotage Specialties
>   * Punch: Merc
>   * Ravage: Merc, Part time when not actively supporting Soundwave
>   * Brainstorm: Merc Support, Part time when deadly or support of deadly operations need his brand of “love” 
>   * Topsin & Twin Twist: Mercs, finishing Kup’s training
>   * The two former guards I haven’t named yet: Mercs-In-Training (I don’t want to replace twins with twins, even though the ones Sunny & Sides are technically replacing non-twin morons. I’ve never thought of shipping Kup/Twins because he’s got a twins fetish and demanded the replacement because he’ll miss Topsin & Twin Twist. Oh wait… no, resist!)
> 

> 
> **Team B: Lockdown**
> 
>   * Lockdown: Merc Leader
>   * Perceptor: Medical and science support
>   * Onslaught, Brawl, Blast Off, Vortex: Mercs
>   * Swindle: Merc Support, Finances & Armory & Supplies
>   * Sandstorm: Merc
>   * Whirl: Merc Support, Downgraded merc to weapons cleaning
>   * Inferno: Merc Support, Post-contract cleanup
>   * Mirage: Merc Client / other, Ghost from Towers. 
>   * Barricade: Part time merc
> 



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession: I currently don’t like writing, but I had time to work on fanfics and nothing else, so I’m choosing to write what I can to push through that road block.
> 
> Why do I dislike writing right now? One reason is that the muses don’t talk much on this fic, but the main reason actually violates AO3 rules (yes, I’m serious), so you’ll have to go to [this Tumblr post](http://oly-chic.tumblr.com/post/157321498689/for-my-ao3-author-notes-im-writing-this-post). Please don’t post a response to the Tumblr post in the AO3 comments!

The first member of the team they met other than Deadlock was Kup, who was there to make sure they didn’t screw up or slack off on the job. His method was not one the twins were used to dealing with.

“… and that’s how back in my orn they guarded the east side of ammo-holding buildings.” Kup’s arm movement starting growing bigger, even in the relatively-small controls room. “Now, I remember a different time when we had to guard the west side of a warehouse ten times the size of this one…”

~Ugh,~ Sunstreaker groaned, ~make him stop. I don’t care about guarding from sun-up to sun-down.~

~How? If I knew how to make him stop without getting fired, I’d be all over it.~

~Maybe first interrupt him?~ Sunstreaker suggested. ~Walking off to start active guarding isn’t better than fake falling into recharge.~

Sideswipe, the more impulsive one, tried upon suggestion. “Thanks for the lessons in guard duty during sun in the optics, but – ”

“Lad, you interrupting me?” The look in Kup’s optics said to not fess up to their weak plan.

“No, sir. Just eager to share my gratefulness.”

Sunstreaker was relieved to not hear the cheekiness in those words. That was until Sideswipe kept speaking. “I mean, the magnitude of my gratefulness is grander than your stories. I want to bask in them by working and thinking _real_ hard about your pearls of wisdom. Putting them to good use, and all.”

“Why you, youngling,” Kup started, “you think me a fool? I know bad behavior when I hear it. You aren’t the first punks I’ve dealt with and you won’t be the last. Punks like you don’t last long. You want to work? Fine, get to work and if you screw up once I’ll put my ped up your aft.”

“Yes, sir,” Sideswipe grinned brazenly.

“Yes, sir,” the more stoic Sunstreaker replied.

Kup looked at them suspiciously, “Sideswipe, you’re doing patrol while Sunstreaker stays in the control room.”

“Aww, why do you get to call who does what?” Sideswipe complained.

“Get going, lad. Don’t make me follow you and make sure you behave.”

Sideswipe almost flew out the door, fearing what one-sided conversations that might bring. He thought about where to start, concluding to begin on the outer east wall where the late sun was still rising. If Sideswipe demonstrated understanding the story then it was less likely Kup would join him later on, or so he reasoned. It wasn’t like he knew Kup beyond a painfully long joor.

The red twin walked the walls, practicing his lost tourist look so he didn’t look like a guard, while using his spark connection to entertain himself. Sideswipe asked Sunstreaker questions of all levels, including some inane. ~Why do they call it the Rust Sea instead of the Red Sea?~

He was about ready to call in switching with Sunstreaker when Kup appeared. “Lad, are you paying attention? I can see your optics aren’t focused. The last time I saw that look in a youngling’s face like yours a gang got the jump on him. Almost got the jump on me, too, but I’m faster than those hooligans give me credit.”

“Now, now, Kup,” a voice from behind Sideswipe teasingly chastised. Sideswipe whirled around to face two mechs, one black and white with a visor, and one red with horns. The one with the visor was speaking. “Let’s not over dramatize the time Brainstorm got distracted by a shinny object. He got sucker punched only once.”

“Who’re you?” Sideswipe asked suspiciously, standing straight and trying to look more like a guard. Obviously if one of them could speak so cavalier to Kup then they must be his teammates. Looking like a slouch wouldn’t win him any favors.

“Jazz.”

The visored mech barely got his name out before the red one huffed. “Cliffjumper. Who are you to _demand_ names, newbie?”

“The guard. I’m pretty sure guard duty comes with making sure the right mechs are here, and aft kicking the wrong ones.”

Cliffjumper sneered, “That’s not how incognito guard duty works. Were you thinking of trying to kick my aft? I’d like to see you try.”

“I’m _not_ fighting someone half my size,” Sideswipe protested, hands up by his waist. “I’ve got pride.”

“Why you… you think you’re so tough, don’t you? Well I’m tougher.”

“Sure, for your size-category you’re probably pretty tough. Me? I fight with the standard-size mechs.”

“I can take on any one of you standard-size mechs,” the mini-bot snapped.

Jazz suddenly spoke up, cheer in his voice. “I’ll fight you. See how good you are.”

“Wait, what?” Sideswipe hadn’t expected that turn. Where would they even fight?

“After your shift, have Kup take you to the sparring ring. I’ll see if you got what it takes to be a guard.”

“I’ve already been vetted by your boss.”

“So? I hear you know how to fight dirty and hard. I want to see if you know how to fight to win but not seriously harm. If you can’t, then you’re not ready to be a guard on a dock when troublesome mechlings sometimes mess around.”

“I can fight clean.” Sideswipe wasn’t sure about the fighting clean part. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out during the match?

Jazz grinned. “See you soon.”

“Yeah, see you soon. With your face planted in the floor.”

“Ha, good luck, gladiator.”

Cliffjumper smirked but made no comment. His posture said enough, leaning towards Jazz and the size of the smirk.

Jazz waved and walked into the warehouse, while Cliffjumper simply joined the visored mech without any farewell. Kup, who watched the whole exchange impassively, shook his helm. “You’re a fool, lad.”

“Hey, he started it. I’m good at finishing it.”

“You won’t be good at finishing it with him. He’s not a gladiator, but moves more like a ninja.”

Sideswipe’s jaw opened. ~Hey bro, I may have stepped into slag. See that one with the blue visor?~

~Yeah, I’ve got optics everywhere.~

~I’ve got a match set up with him and apparently he’s a frigging ninja.~

~You dumbaft. Good luck, you’ll have to get on top of him and stay there.~

Sideswipe groaned. ~It’s supposed to be a clean fight. I can’t pound him into the ground until he’s unconscious.~

~Sucks to be you.~

Sideswipe shook his helm. To Kup he asked, “Any pointers on how to not lose?”

The old mech chuckled. “Nope. I want him to win.”

“Some teacher you are. Teachers are supposed to be caring, and other fluffy things.”

Kup shook his helm. “I’m a trainer. I’m about tough love, and I have no love for you. Good luck, idiot.” Kup sauntered away, laughing to himself.

\----

Half of the team was there at the training center, ready to watch Sideswipe try figuring out someone who fought with elusive precision instead of the usual blow-by-blow dirty tactics of the pits. Sideswipe had never fought anyone who might dance around his punches.

The red twin gazed around the circular floor padding, seeing Kup, Deadlock, Cliffjumper, Flatline, and the one he now knew as Springer loosely gathered off to the side of the center of the ring. Sunstreaker was there as well, opposite of the present team members.

Jazz gave Sideswipe a small smirk. “Ready?”

“I’m always ready.” Sometimes Sideswipe didn’t know how to say something without challenging or pranking others.

Jazz dropped down into a more traditional martial arts stance, left hand forward and right hand back, his posture narrowed into a straight line. Sideswipe took a more defensive position, his fists up and his body not nearly as streamlined. This was a position Sideswipe knew well, how to switch between offensive hits and defensive blocks with ease. Martial arts poses didn’t switch nearly as often as his pose.

Kup announced, “Go!”

Jazz and Sideswipe both moved at the same time, each trying to move out of the way of a direct attack only to move straight into each other. Sideswipe swung hard, harder than normal for a sparring match, but the hit missed as Jazz duck, swung around, and used his back leg to kick Sideswipe in the shin.

“Watch it, mech!” Jazz called. “We’re just sparing, not trying to beat each other down.”

Right, sparing. He’d done that with his brother from time-to-time, but they usually didn’t hold back too much. Training meant learning how to take a punch as much as giving one.

Sideswipe mentally adjusted, telling himself to start with only 50% strength and work from there. His body wasn’t used to holding back and his back swing was almost just as normally strong. Jazz weaved away from the blow and lightly shuffled his steps backwards, his peds barely grazing the ground. The merc, as Sideswipe later found out, was behind him and that set off alarm bells in the red fighter’s helm. Sideswipe took several steps forward before turning around, his fists tight by his face and his elbows out, prepared for Jazz’s follow-through attack.

Jazz’s follow-through attack was a forward low-sweeping kick, something the former-gladiator wasn’t expecting. One of Sideswipe’s peds crossed in front of the others, but Sideswipe leaned at an angle to drive his off-balance weight distribution at Jazz. The merc wasn’t expecting it and a blow glanced off of Jazz’s check as he tried shifting his posture away.

Jazz recovered quicker than Sideswipe, the red mech not able to regain his balance before Jazz kneed Sideswipe in the tanks. Before Jazz could bring his arms down into Sideswipe’s frame, the guard used his momentum to roll off of Jazz’s knee and grab him by the ped. He used all his strength to throw Jazz down by the ped, succeeding in his plan and getting Jazz to yelp.

Jazz rolled into a crouch but Sideswipe sprang at Jazz, landing on top of him. Sideswipe tried _nicely_ punching Jazz in the face but the other mech wrapped his legs and arms around Sideswipe’s arm before it connected. Jazz rolled hard to the side, twisting Sideswipe’s body. The awkward position put Sideswipe at the bottom and Jazz now straddling him from the top.

Jazz squeezed his knees into Sideswipe’s side, painfully pressed his peds into Sideswipe’s hips, and then punched forward with enough strength to break a nose… connecting it to the floor. “See, mech? No need to go all gladiator and aim for a mech’s face during sparring. I don’t need to look like crap or see Flatline before a mission just because you don’t know how to make a point without breaking someone’s dentae.”

Sideswipe grunted. A broken nose wouldn’t stop a fight, but then this was some kind of light-sparked sparring match. “Don’t tell me that you think this match is already over.”

“I’m not pounding in your face, and blows to the ground will give you an advantage to attack me. Given how you fight, like this is a real gladiator fight, I’m going to call it quits.” Jazz rolled smoothly onto his peds, standing over Sideswipe. “Kup, I think you got your work cut out for you on these two, teaching the difference between sparring and fighting. I bet you his brother is the same.”

“Hey,” Sunstreaker protested. He didn’t protest any further, knowing his brother’s actions spoke more volume than any words.

Kup shook his helm in dismay. “I guess I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is a short chapter, but the muses are only giving me bits and pieces, and I wanted to post something. Next chapter will be about teaching the twins how to let go of their hardened fighter attitudes.


End file.
